


His Sacrifice

by Sda209



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, F/M, Family Loss, Sacrifice, Suggestive Themes, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sda209/pseuds/Sda209
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Maka and Soul, the world as they, and the students of DWMA, knew it was falling apart around them, and the great invasion of Death City only worsened matters. When a loved one sacrifices his own life in exchange for her own during battle, how could she cope with his death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Sacrifice

Death.

That was the only thing Maka saw around her.

It felt like a blur to her, but she knew that everything was happening at a normal speed. Her mind was having a difficult time comprehending what's going on around her, but she could feel the intensity of battle. Maka dodged and blocked, trying to fight back the attackers; an enemy she did not know. Something searing and sharp grazed her upper arm, earning a grunt of pain from her dry lips. Excruciating pain was the only thing that she still could comprehend, but she slashed and hacked, no matter the injuries she sustained or felt.

Only when a familiar cry did her thoughts returned into reality.

Just as she made a downward slash on a witch, dismembering her in half, her eyes widened with horror. A beam of magic was speeding towards her like lightning. Her body, completely frozen by the terror flowing in her vessels, refused to move. Too slow, you're dead, that's how combat—how war—works. Death was coming for her, not Lord Death, but real Death. That beam of magical energy, she awaited for the agony that would soon follow, and the Death that would claim her like prey. Just as the beam was about to hit, someone big leaped in front of her.

It wasn't Soul, but someone much taller than her. The beam hit him, instead of her, sparing her from the claws of Death. He was thrown back harshly into the air, only to fall to the earth, crashing against the stone wall and leaving cracks in his wake. For a moment, fear still gripped her very body, but it wasn't because of the witches, no, it was the identity of that man who saved her. Only did his identity clicked in her mind that Maka gave a cry of horror.

Spirit—her father, her bastard father—spared her from Death.

Before she could think any further, Maka found herself feeling a rage—a rage unlike any other she ever felt—suddenly replacing her fear. This time, she allowed it to control her, heighten her, agitate her. With a war screech, Maka bolted towards the witches and made a horizontal slash across their torsos, slicing them clean as the splashes of blood sprayed onto Maka's clothes and face, painting her cheeks, her cloak, her boots, her skirt, her shirt, dark red. However, she did not relent her attack.

Angrily, she turned to the corpses and began to unleash her already build-up anger. She screamed like a lion, landing countless stabs and slashes onto the corpses of the witches, dismembering them even further. Her eyes were glazed, her face scrunched up in fury, and everything around her was once again a blur. Muffled cries of agony and terror filled her ears as multiple booms echoed in the distance. Something huge flew over her, emanating sounds that would have made a man deaf, but her hearing was barely working. Her eyes were barely working, her nose was barely working, her body was barely working, and the only thing that they all knew was to kill.

One final stab to a downed witch did Maka finally awakened back to reality.

Soul was screaming at her the entire time she was under the spell of her rage, trying to cool her down and get her to think. Even now, he still continued to scream, though realization was slowly dawning upon her that she was already returning to reality. She was still on the same roof, no doubt, but what had truly shocked her was the countless mutilated corpses of witches that dotted the entire rooftops. Their purple souls hovered over their broken bodies, horribly ripped and shredded by the Death Scythe that is Soul Eater. Blood soaked the ground around them, shining like pools of water under the glow of the waning sunlight and souls. The sounds of war also returned to Maka's senses. Anti-aircraft fire lighted up the ruins of the city. Gunfire and explosions made up the symphony of battle as planes battled witches across the polluted, smoky sky, filled with shrapnel, bullets, spells, and missiles.

Maka's hands were trembling, shaking with fear on what she had done. Her senseless—and murderous—rampage had killed tens, maybe even hundreds, of witches. It wasn't the deaths of the witches themselves that frightened her so greatly, no, but it was her own hands that was able to do such a deed. To be able to take so many lives with such blind hatred, she dared not to think of what could be the result if these were normal humans that she murdered. Maka didn't wanted to be that kind of ruthless killer. Though, she was raised to be one, it was for a greater cause against the forces of Evil and Darkness, but even then, it made her eyes open on the potential for a Death Scythe Meister and her Death Scythe—or even a normal Meister and their Demon Weapon—to take this many lives.

Then, one word crossed her mind that had her running: Papa.

Is he alright?

Will he recover from this?

Did something bad happened to his body?

Is he going to die-?

Maka tried to silence these grim thoughts, but they kept on plaguing her mind. The thought of her father deceased, while some may assume that Maka would like that option better, struck great fear into her heart. Already, she was on his side by the time Maka once again returned to reality. She discarded Soul, too focused on making sure her father was alright to hear him yell at her. Falling onto her scraped and dirty knees, Maka's was looking over her father. A scorch mark was imprinted on his solar plexus—the weakest point in the human body—burning through his shirt and into his skin. He looked deathly pale, and when Maka checked his breathing and pulse, they were faint. Not a good sign, at all.

She heard Soul transforming back into his human form, but she did not take notice, even when she felt his presence next to her. Maka cried for him to wake up, yelled for him to get up, going so far as to shaking him just he could move. It couldn't be, it wasn't supposed to end like this. Spirit "Death Scythe" Albarn isn't supposed to die at the hands of the witches, he can't leave her! All of those times of hating him for being a womanizing bastard, pushing him away, cheating on Mama, hurting his feelings, only she finally realized what her mind was trying to tell her. She was so blind, so ignorant, so idiotic to not realize this notion until now. As much as a cheater he was:

Spirit loved her and Mama more than anything in the world.

Maka noticed him just barely opening his eyes. Her red, puffy eyes were soaked with tears, threatening to break out and break her down, after years of numerous emotions being bottled up in her. The threat of her finally breaking down into a shameful heap increased dramatically when he gave a frown—at least, what looked like a frown to Maka. Then, all of the sudden, he whispered in her ear, confessing of all of the crimes he committed towards her and her mother, and apologizing dearly for those sinful things. She listened to each and every one of them carefully, her eyes widened with shock. Even Soul was surprised to see her father making those confessions. When he finally fell silent, Maka snatched her father's hand roughly, yet ever so gently. Her hand clenched tightly into his own, refusing to let go of his failing warmth. Her lips quivered and trembled, but she managed to muster up the courage to speak:

"I forgive you."

Her breaking point was close, so close that any moment she will falter and cry. Cry like the little girl she was right now. Once again, the world around her was silent, silent to her and Spirit only. For the first time since Spirit divorced, he smiled at her: it was weak, alright, but Maka very much knew that it was strong and genuine. It was something that—along with his impending death—will leave a mark on Maka's mind forever. His breathing and pulse became more faint, his skin becoming even more pale. Maka almost cried to not leave her, but Spirit shushed and told her his parting words:

"Maka, I want you to stay strong. Stay strong for your friends. Stay strong for Soul. Stay strong for everybody. Stay strong for me. But, it's okay to cry, especially if your loved one is about to die. Even though I'm going to die, I'm glad that at least you forgave me for what I have done.

"Goodbye, Maka. Please, stay strong..."

The Death Scythe Meister felt his hand loosening upon her own. She felt the last of his warmth, his pulse, his life, disappearing from his body. The last words that he had spoken to her before he left this world had finally broken her, his glowing soul accompanied her before them. Around Maka and Soul, the world continued to fight each other in the smoking ruins of the once-great Death City. But, where they were, even time seemed to have no affect on either of them.

From this day forth, and on until her inevitable death, she will remember his words, and that genuine smile of his.

And his sacrifice so that she and Soul could move on and save the world. 


End file.
